


The Dancer

by QueenPunk



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Character Study, Dreamlike, Poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 14:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenPunk/pseuds/QueenPunk
Summary: The world is collapsing around her.A woman is screaming.





	The Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very, very old piece (I think I was still in high school when I wrote it?) that was supposed to be for a larger work that I've forgotten the plot of. I don't want this scene to waste away forever so I am posting it here. Basically, this is a sort of character study of Natasha's origin story without going too much into detail.

Flames surround and flames consume.  Smoke blocks the path ahead of her, igniting her eyes and floating in her skull . Hot coals drip down onto her skin, her face, her hair, melting them away until she is nothing but bones and blood.  Ash es  seep  into  her mouth, choking her, their grittiness rubbing her throat raw, her  screams suffocated.

The world is collapsing around her.

A woman is screaming.

A hand shoving her further into the flames.

Ice creeps and ice  fills.  It crawls  from the ground, lapping at her ankles, hooking into their soles.  Slipping venom into her veins, frost cutting her up from the inside out. Cruel  winds slash into her cheeks, whistling and rattling  deep inside her bones. Frozen needles sew her eyes shut  and she is left racing into the dark.

Red stands out on white.

A young girl stares into a shattered mirror.

Soft caresses turn possessive, moving her like a doll. A puppet.

The strings are pulled tight around her, contorting her body, stripping her apart.  She is on a stage, thousands of eyes hungering for  her  struggle for  her failure  for her to pull the trigger.  Her hands strain above her head in an arc , her feet  loose and broken and dangling above the floor.

A  grotesque  smile tugs on her lips with each note.

A little girl with braids holds out her hand towards her.

A gunshot rings through the night.

Red drips down her  shoulders, her back, and her legs-- a  thick  puddle forming at her feet . The string bites into her joints, looping around her  bones  to pull tighter.  The noose pulls her head up, chin lifted proudly as her eyes stream down her cheeks . She doesn’t tremble doesn’t make a sound doesn’t fight.

Loving  fingers trace her tears.

Arms hold her in an embrace.

A lullaby  chases her away.

She grasps the string and they cut into her palms.  She strains against their pull, weaving them through her tendons, into her very core . The audience murmurs roar and echo. Her broken feet broken legs broken heart land on the stage with the  strings holding her up.  The music reaches a crescendo.

She stands, eyes staring straight ahead.

The strands of  thread  descend over the audience.

They struggle. They scream.

A little girl laughs.

She waves her hands like a conductor, wrapping  her  cords  around their throats, silencing their  symphony .

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are much appreciated and keep me writing!


End file.
